


As the Crow Flies

by Mia_chii



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Chechnya concentration camps, Implied Murder, Implied/Referenced Torture, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Multi, poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 09:38:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14376081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mia_chii/pseuds/Mia_chii
Summary: A little poem inspired by the horror of the Chechnya concentration camps in 2017.





	As the Crow Flies

**As the Crow Flies**

 

The crow descends,

to a scene witnessed a thousand times before.

Once again, man lays for him provisions bare.

 

Fires, they burn.

A man shrieks

but parched throats

render not a sound.

He turns to his side,

the possibility of a companion

makes the burden of purgatory

a little lighter. But no,

too damaged he is

to perceive the mass next to him

or the scavenger perched above him

but maybe that too

is a gift from God

He wonders

In this realm between worlds

Does anyone know

Where I am?

What has happened to me?

His eyes glaze over,

as a final thought

leaves his fragile soul

Will anyone know

I even existed?

 

Ample rest,

no scramble for rations

the crow prolongs his stay.

But the crow no longer feels

for the charred remains of man

and takes to the wind.

Through the smoke,

gliding above trenches

and lastly, a few powerful thrusts.

He easily overcomes towering walls –

man’s futile attempt to keep his disgrace caged in.

 

Clear skies, clean air.

The crow descends.

This time a street.

He waits, watching intently.

Once again, man will provide.

Patience bears fruit.

He swoops down for a piece of bread thrown out by a baker.

A thunderous roar,

broken of flight,

the crow flees,

abandoning his meal –

Perhaps this time it is different.

 

A proud youth stands,

leading a crowd as they chant

drenched in sweat,

voices hoarse.

He looks ahead,

seeing past parliamentary buildings,

past vast stretches of land,

through impregnable walls,

and over yawning trenches

into the heart of despair –

It will not be hidden.

It will not be hushed.

It will not be covered up.

And we Will not remain silent.


End file.
